


One Year

by Teacupsroses (TJfan72)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dark Castle, F/M, Smut, The Great Rumbelle Blow Off, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 20:24:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6438925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TJfan72/pseuds/Teacupsroses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Belle gives her boss Rumple - who has never had a blow job and has not had sex in over five years - a blow job.  For The Great Rumbelle Blow Off on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Year

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting this in time for the original March 31st deadline. Bad week, between my health and a death in the family (my mom’s older brother, news of which came on Mom’s birthday). 
> 
> I immediately loved the prompt and wanted to set it at the Dark Castle, although it was initially difficult to figure out how Belle would find out that much information about Rumple’s sexual history within that setting (not that it really matters in terms of why she gives him the blow job in this story). Needless to say, there is smut, as well as a teensy, tiny hint of non-con (not by either Rumple or Belle).

“What happened is I’m a difficult man to love,” he said quietly, his breath hot against her hair, his body warm and firm against hers.

Belle wanted so much to turn so that she could look more fully at him instead of just watching him out of the corner of her eye, but she was hesitant, instinctively knowing that they were at a crossroads.  She has been at the Dark Castle for months now, but there was still so much that she did not understand about him, about her feelings for him and his for her, so many layers still to be uncovered.

 _Do the brave thing,_ she reminded herself, _and bravery would follow._   Once, those words had guided her into accepting a deal that no one else had wanted her to take, one that she knew she had to take so that her people would be saved.  Now, she hoped they could lead her into so much more.

Slowly, she brought her left hand up to tentatively cover his left hand on her waist.  He tensed slightly at the contact, but did not pull away.  She let her other hand fall to her side, moving it backwards behind her skirt until she could feel his leather-clad leg against her fingers.  Again, he tensed at her touch, but still did not pull away.

Carefully, she lifted her head slightly so that her eyes could more easily meet his, not quite sure how to read his expression.  A part of her sensed that he was – as much as he probably would deny it if she thought to mention it – starved for human contact, any contact, and that although hesitant, he was responding to her like a starving man, wanting her touch but not quite sure how to react to what he had been denied for so long.

Another part of her wondered if he just felt himself to be so hateable and unworthy of affection that it was nigh on impossible for him to comprehend that she might have feelings for him which definitely went beyond those of master and servant and even went beyond those of the still tentative friendship that had been slowly developing between them since he had figured out that he did not intimidate her – how many times had he threatened to turn her into a toad with her simply laughing him off? – and she had discovered that a lot of his bluster was simply armor he put on to hide the real Rumplestiltskin from the world.

Thinking about that bluster, she remembered the day that he had rescued her from the three witches he had sarcastically called the “Queens of Darkness” (not a one of them were queens, or even any type of royalty at all, she had discovered later after checking some of the books in her library, curious to know more).  She had asked why he had saved her, and he had told her angrily that if anyone was going to crush her heart, it was going to be him.

A few days later, she had overheard a conversation which had stuck in her mind ever since, and had led her to recognize the fear that he held in check beneath the layers upon layers of anger.  A woman had shown up at the castle – who it was, she still did not know, as she never saw her face, only heard her voice and caught a glimpse of her from behind as she had stormed out of the castle.  Belle had been fussing over their afternoon tea – which they had started taking together after her rescue – when suddenly, his expression had changed and he had angrily sent her off, telling her to go dust in the library before transporting her up there with a wave of his hand.

After a moment spent being frustrated at him for transporting her off somewhere again without at least telling her first (it had become something of an ongoing argument from her, which he had been ignoring, of course), she had made her way back down to the Great Hall as quickly as she could – she had become so familiar with the route between the two rooms that she could almost traverse it in her sleep – and had stood in the foyer just beyond the open doors to the hall, where she was hoping she would not be seen, and had watched Rumplestiltskin.  She had watched and she had listened.

The first thing she had learned was that whoever this woman was – and she was powerful, of that Belle had no doubt, as even she had felt the ripple of the wards as the woman had shown up – Rumplestiltskin had initially thought that she was responsible for her disappearance.  Before discovering the real perpetrators, he had confronted this woman, demanding that Belle be returned to him.

The second thing she had figured out was that he was lonely.  The woman had reminded him of their confrontation a few days earlier, about how desperate he had been to get her back, suggesting that he was developing feelings for her.  Belle had almost laughed at that – she had initially thought the idea quite preposterous – before she remembered that she was supposed to be hiding so that she could eavesdrop, not giving herself away and making Rumplestiltskin angrier than he already was.

And he _was_ angry.  That much was apparent based on what little she could see of him from her position outside the door, obvious in the way he gripped the delicate porcelain of the tea cup in his hand.  If it had not been the chipped cup which he seemed to so favor, she almost thought he might have thrown it at the woman, especially as she continued her mocking of him, blithely ignoring his mood.

Then she had gone on to ask him something about how long it had been, talking about a past relationship with someone who was apparently this woman’s mother.  Her nose had involuntarily wrinkled in disgust, although it was apparent from the drift of the conversation – or rather, the woman’s taunts directed at him – that the relationship had been over and done with several years before this woman had been born.  She hadn’t wanted to consider that this cruel woman could possibly be his daughter from that long-ago liaison.

The other woman they had been talking about was apparently powerful – another sorceress – and without scruples judging from the way her own daughter spoke about her.  Probably just the type of woman that the Dark One might be attracted to, if Belle had allowed herself to think back then about the idea of the Dark One being attracted to anyone.  She had yet to see that he had any type of private life at all.  His entire world seemed utterly focused on his deals, his deals and his spinning.

But beneath the Dark One was a man just like any other – Belle had become firmly convinced of that when he had given her the library – and the man underneath had apparently been hurt deeply.  He said not a word as the woman continued with her painful taunts, reminding him how her mother had thrown him over for riches and a royal title, ripping out her own heart to ensure that nothing got in the way of what she wanted.

Belle had nearly thrown up upon hearing that.  How could someone even _think_ of going that far, of denying any feelings whatsoever, of turning her back on the very essence of being human?  What kind of monster did such a thing?

Finally, the woman had left once she had figured out that her taunts and jests were not drawing the response that she obviously had wanted, striding out of the Great Hall in high dungeon, Belle fleeing back up the stairs to avoid being seen.  After a few minutes to calm her racing heart and trying not to think too hard about the reasons it was beating a rapid tattoo in her chest other than the fact that she was trying not to get caught, she had returned to the hall.

She had immediately returned to preparing her own tea, but before she could sit down at the table with him, Rumplestiltskin had pushed his own cup aside.  Ignoring her presence, he had gone over to his spinning wheel, quickly losing himself in the motion of the wheel as he was wont to do.  She had tried briefly to draw him into conversation, refreshing his by then cold cup of tea and bringing it to him, but had given up after a few minutes when it had become apparent that he simply had wanted to be lost in his own thoughts, barely sparing her even a glance…

…but in the brief moment when his gaze had flicked to hers, she had seen so much pain reflected in the amber depths of his eyes.  She had ached to go to him, to tell him to ignore what that woman had said – which would have, of course, given away the fact that she had been listening in on a conversation which obviously had pained him deeply – but she had forced herself not to.  Partly because she was pretty sure that he would not react well to knowing that she had been listening, but also partly because she was uncertain how he would take any concern expressed towards him.

Over the following months, the idea that a lonely, hurting man lay beneath the fearsome mask of the beast had become even more firmly fixed in her mind.  He had been so unsure the day he had caught her falling from the ladder, apparently unused to being so close to someone, to holding someone in his arms, but eventually he had become slightly more at ease around her, gradually spending more and more time in her company, no longer starting as much when she would touch him - a hand on his shoulder to draw his attention to something, a light brush of her fingers as she would hand him his tea.

He had even moved her out of the dungeon after she had protected him from Samuel, giving her a room of her own with a beautiful view of the courtyard just now coming into bloom.  He had not even been too angry the day she had intruded on his solitude in his tower, when he had been remembering someone obviously important to him – his child, she now wondered, based on the room full of a child’s things that she had found? – his apparent fury at her interruption seeming to be more put on than anything else to cover his sorrow.

As they lightly held each other, Belle could feel all the conflicting emotions coming off him in waves.  She hesitated, not quite sure what to say, how to reassure him that she was there, that she would not go anywhere.

“Oh,” she said softly, a bit hesitantly, “I don’t know about that.”

* * *

“Hmm?” Rumple murmured quietly against her hair, his eyes downcast, not quite ready to meet her penetrating gaze.  A part of him wanted desperately to pull away, but another part that he would barely admit to – even to himself – wanted to stay, to keep her in his arms.  It had been a long time since he had let a woman get close to him like this and a part of him deep down was terrified at what might happen, at what it all might mean. 

The last time he had let himself go with a woman – and the time before that, as well – it had ended very badly, but Belle was not Cora, nor was she Milah.  He could not imagine a circumstance where she could possibly be as vicious, as cruel, as either of them had been.  He could not think of a situation when it would even occur to Belle to want to stop feeling, let alone rip her own heart out to do it.

“I mean,” she continued quietly, “I think I could…”

Her voice trailed off uncertainly, and Rumple quashed down the sudden urge to ask her to continue, to find out what she thought she could do.  He was not sure he wanted to know.  He was a beast, no matter how much he might not want to be, at least when it came to her, but he still could not get away from that simple fact.  He was not a man, not to himself and certainly not to an innocent maiden with who knew what ideas of love and romance from those books he always caught her reading.

Not that he had been spying on her and her choice of reading materials, but if she left a book lying around the Great Hall, it was only natural that he might pick it up and see what she was reading this time.  Her choice of reading material was eclectic, he had to admit, her quest for the written word in all forms nearly insatiable.  She was just as likely to be reading a history of Agrabah’s dark ages as she was the latest romance from the book store in the village which had somehow found its way into her library.  Not that he would admit in a million years how those books – or any others he just happened to pick up while away on a deal - ended up there.  He would make no visible note of the knowing smiles she would bestow on him when she would come down to the hall with a new book tucked under her arm that she had just found.

There were even a few books he was fairly certain she kept hidden in her room – the one place he would not let himself intrude upon her - until she was done with them.  Once, he had caught her returning a book to the library, her face turning beet red, her voice stammering nervously as she had found him searching for an ancient spell book which she had inadvertently put away in the library rather than in his work tower after finding it on the table in the hall.  She had quickly put her book back on the shelf and had departed just as swiftly, stuttering out an apology.

Her attitude had so puzzled him that he had felt compelled to take a look at the book she had returned, the heat rising to his own cheeks before he could stop it as he realized exactly what she had been reading.  Just as quickly, reason reasserted itself and he shoved the book back onto the shelf.

 _Dreaming about her knight, of course,_ a familiar voice had whispered with derision in his head.  He had tried to shove Nimue’s voice aside, but there were times when it was easier said than done, especially after he had claimed Belle as his price.  Although he had heard the voices of pretty much all of the past Dark Ones at some point or another, Nimue’s seemed to have become more prominent in the past few months.  _Imagining what she could be doing with him is probably her way of coping with being trapped here with you.  Of course, you could make her forget…take from her what you obviously want, what you so desperately need, twist her mind until she begs for it…_

For a brief moment, he had considered tearing through the library and making a bonfire of all the books of _that_ nature.  How had they even ended up in there to begin with?  He really could not remember how he had gotten half of the books there.  He had lifted his hand, an incantation forming in his mind, before he had let his arm drop again, barely holding back a smirk at the voice shrieking in anger in the back of his mind.  It did not matter.  None of it did.  Let her dream about her betrothed.  It was not like anything would ever come of it.  She had promised him _forever_ and that was exactly what she would give him.  As for the rest – he would be content with whatever she was _willing_ to give him. 

Now, as she touched him, let her body rest against his without judgment, without complaint, he wondered what she was thinking.  _Was_ she thinking of her betrothed, imaging that it was him holding her?  With that thought, he started to back away from her until her left hand tightened over his.  His eyes widened in shock as she pressed herself back against him, her right hand slowly beginning to slide up his leg.

* * *

Feeling him start to pull away, Belle tightened her hand over his, leaning further back against him as she let her other hand slide up his thigh as far as she could reach with the slightly awkward positioning.  She knew this was a delicate situation and she was beginning to worry that her overt attentions were starting to frighten him off.  It was hard for her to know just how far and how fast she could push him.

Not a single one of her books had quite prepared her for _this._ There were no romance novels where one of the characters was a 300+ year old sorcerer whom most saw as simply a monster (including, she had become convinced, the sorcerer himself), a beast as her father had once called him, transformed by the love of an innocent maiden.  A few of the more _practical_ books in her library had given her insight into what could happen on the physical side of things – and right now she had no doubts that he did want her like that.  Innocent she might be, but she did know what the hardness pressing against her back meant.  His tight pants did little to disguise that part of him under normal circumstances – she had long since admitted to herself that she liked to take a peek every now and again when she thought he was not looking – and it seemed that they did even less to camouflage his obvious physical interest in her now.

It would be so easy to just turn around in his arms and…and then what?  She wanted him too much to simply be satisfied with a quick tumble to slake their physical needs.  He could – in theory, she reminded herself, thinking of the overheard conversation of a few months prior – get that with any willing body.  He could have gotten it from her that very first night in the castle, if he had so desired.  She knew that was exactly what her father and his advisors and Gaston had all been afraid of as soon as he had named her as his price and she had agreed.

Even she had resigned herself to that possibility during the trip from her father’s castle to his.  She had promised him forever and, although he had only spoken of needing someone to care of his estate, a lot could happen in that forever to change things.  Perhaps he might have added terms to their somewhat vague deal, although nothing in their verbal agreement had specifically excluded anything other than caretaking duties either. 

She had not known enough then to be able to ascertain whether or not he had the same kind of needs as most other men did.  Perhaps they might have gotten to the point where she might have pushed for more out of mere practicality, realizing that she had her own needs for which there was no possibility of being met – outside of her own inexpert fumbling in the dark – unless it were by him.

In a way, it had been something of a relief when he had thrown her into the dungeon that first night, despite her loud protests to the contrary.  That action had made it quite clear to her that he had no intentions in _that_ direction – at least at the time.  It had only been after she had fallen off the ladder, and she had spent a few glorious seconds nestled in his arms and had started to see even more of the man than the beast he hid behind, that she had started coming to the conclusion that maybe more with Rumplestiltskin would not be so bad after all and that maybe, just maybe, given how flustered he had appeared when he had set her down, that he just might want more, too.

She had certainly felt more in those brief seconds of simply being held by him – a fluttering tightness that seemed to center in that most secret part of her and spread out from there - than she had after any of Gaston’s possessive embraces.  For the first time that day, she had wondered whether she could have something she had only dreamed of while lost in the pages of her books – a relationship with a man built not on a sense of duty nor obligation, but because she wanted it.

Once, Gaston had been the only option, the only choice she had been given.  It had been quite a heady feeling to discover that maybe there was another option besides the one that had been forced on her, that she could chose for herself rather than be compelled to accept someone else’s choice for her.

* * *

Slowly, she turned in his arms until she was facing him, tucking her head under his chin, hesitantly moving her hands until they rested on his hips just at the lower edge of his waistcoat.  “Rumple,” she whispered softly, a little shyly, her hot breath fanning against the bare skin exposed by the v of his shirt in a way that sent a surge of heat straight to his groin.

His cock already straining against the leather of his breeches, he shifted slightly at the increased pressure, trying to ease himself away from her.  He barely swallowed back a gasp as she moved with him, her hands moving between them to rest on the front of his pants, slipping under the points of his waistcoat to find the ties underneath.

“I…um…” he began, rapidly losing his train of thought as one of her hands slid even lower, her fingers lightly tracing the outline of him.  “You don’t…”  His eyes slipped closed as the sensations caused by her touch threatened to overwhelm him.  He could just teleport away, he realized as he struggled to pull his thoughts back together, but he did not want to.

“I don’t have to,” she agreed softly.  His heart nearly plummeted in his chest before he felt her press her hand firmly against him, her other hand starting to pull at the fastening of his pants, leaving him with very little doubt as to what her intention was.  “But I do want to.”

“Why?”  The question slipped unbidden from his lips as his hands fluttered at his sides before coming up to cover hers, helping her with the ties.  He could have accomplished the task easily with magic, but he would do anything to draw the moment out before she would inevitably pull her hands away.

He felt her lips press lightly against his throat before he felt her move, his eyes popping open in shock as she dropped to her knees in front of him.  Her head was now level with his groin as their hands pulled his pants open.  Her aim became startlingly obvious as her lips parted slightly, her tongue darting out to moisten them.  His hands moved to her shoulders and he grasped them, fully intending to pull her back to her feet, but his motion stilled as she wrapped her hands gently around his hard cock, pulling him free of the confines of the unforgiving leather.  _She couldn’t…_

“Belle…” he began, struggling with what to say.  Tell her to stop?  Tell her to please continue on?  “I – I…never…”

His voice trailed off as she lifted her eyes to meet his, the myriad emotions swirling she was feeling so plainly written in their crystal blue depths.

* * *

Her heart nearly broke as she intuited what he meant by _never_.  The idea of giving him some kind of pleasure first had only been a half-formed one at first, floating in the back of her thoughts until she had let herself fall to her knees in front of him.  She had read that a lot of men liked to be pleased with their partner’s hands and mouth and she had decided almost unconsciously that she wanted to do this for him, hoping it would show him that she wanted _him_ just as much as she hoped that he wanted her.

“It’s okay,” she tried to assure him as she slowly started to move her hands up and down his length.  In a way, the idea that this was as new to him as it was to her was comforting.  They could learn together, discover just what kind of touches brought him the most pleasure.  Brought both of them pleasure, as she was sure that she would feel whatever he was feeling.  That idea sent another wave of heat coursing through her and she shifted slightly back on her haunches, trying to ease the increasingly pleasant pressure enveloping her.

She dropped her eyes to the hard length wrapped in her hands, one curiosity about him finally satisfied.  The green-gold scales apparently did cover him completely, although they were lighter in color, not quite as rough to the touch on this more sensitive part of him.  Hesitantly, she continued to move her hands over him, her fingers tracing over the contours of him.

She tried to memorize the feel of him, noting where her touch made him harden even more, easing back slightly when a sharp hiss of breath made her think it might be a little _too_ much.  Her fingers gently pushed back his foreskin, her thumb swiping up the moisture already leaking from the tip.  Pulling that hand away from him, she popped the thumb into her mouth, aching to taste him.  A little salty and musky and just a hint of bitterness, but nothing she could not handle.

Her name fell hoarsely from his lips and her gaze flew back up to his.  His pupils blew wide as she slowly pulled her thumb from mouth, releasing it with a light popping noise.  _Was he imaging her lips around him like that_?  He looked so unguarded in that moment that she was not quite sure how to interpret the heated look he was giving her.

Her eyes dropping again, she leaned forward, pressing her lips to the tip of him in a gentle kiss while fighting back a sudden wave of nervousness.  His grip on her shoulders tightened as her lips parted as she drew him into her mouth, her tongue swirling around his tip.

“Belle…”  Her name fell from his lips again in a husky whisper that did incredible things to her.  Shifting slightly again on her knees, she relaxed her mouth as much as she could, drawing his length further into her mouth.  She managed a few inches before it became too much.  Wrapping a hand around his base, she focused on moving her lips and tongue over as much of him as she could, pressing her free hand to his hip to steady herself.

Encouraged by the gasps and moans falling unbidden from his lips, she sped up her movements slightly, managing to take a little more of him into her mouth as she grew more confident in the pleasure she was giving him.  Her tongue lapped eagerly at him as she moaned deep in her throat at the salty taste of his skin.

Her lips firmly wrapped around his hardness, the hand holding him steady slipped down to brush against the heavy sac between his legs.  His hips jerked at the touch and she barely managed to pull back slightly before she started choking as he slid deeper into her mouth.

Feeling him start to pull back, sensing that he thought he might have hurt her, she blindly reached up with her other hand, grasping at his wrist, trying to let him know that she was okay.  She resumed sliding her lips over his length as he released her shoulder, moving his hand to entwine his fingers with hers.

Her name fell from his lips in a soft chant as he tensed against her.  Once again, he began to pull away, but she tightened her fingers in his, lifting her eyes to his half-closed ones, hoping he understood the unspoken message.

With a harsh gasp from him, she felt him release his seed into her mouth.  She struggled to swallow the thick fluid, feeling a little bit leak from her lips as she released him.  Resting her forehead against waist, she trembled with him as their harsh breathing echoed in her ears in the large room.

Suddenly, she felt an arm wrap around her as he yanked her up against him, his hand releasing hers as he lifted it to cup her cheek.  She leaned into his gentle touch as she brought her hand up between them to slip under the open top of his silk shirt to press against his chest, feeling his heart thudding in his chest almost exactly in time with hers.

“Belle,” he whispered, his eyes falling to her lips as she licked the last of his fluid from them.  He swayed against her and she felt his arm tighten around her.

“Rumplestiltskin,” she softly replied as she lifted her head slightly, their noses brushed against each other as their lips parted.  Their lips hovered just millimeters apart and it would be so easy to come together, to take more of what they both so desperately desired…

* * *

Rumplestiltskin’s eyes jerked open with a start.  It was not real.  None of it had been real.  He had been spinning, trying to forget, when he had gotten lost in thoughts of Belle. With a vicious snarl, he kicked over the basket next to his spinning wheel, golden straw scattering on the floor around him.  He blindly grabbed for the basket, hurling it against the wall behind him.  A few seconds later, the stool he had been sitting on while lost in his thoughts followed, one of the legs breaking off with the force of the impact against the wall.

The wheel was upended next, coming to rest on its side, half off the platform, the wheel scraping against the edge of the platform as it spun lazily around from inertia.  Finally, when there was nothing further within reach with which to assuage his anger, Rumplestiltskin fell to his knees, bent over double as he pressed his forehead to his knees, struggling not to scream, not to cry out his rage and grief.

This particular day was worse than most, for it had been a year since *that* day when everything had changed.  Although he could barely admit it, even to himself, he had been counting the days – not since the very beginning, but at least since the day he had thrown her out, tacking on two extra days to the count in his head to account for the days he had left her in the dungeon while he had forced his red-hot anger to congeal into cold ice.

As soon as she had stalked out the door, he knew it had been a mistake, but he was too much of a coward to run after her, to admit that he was wrong, to confess that his power didn’t mean more to him than her, that nothing did save for one thing.  Bae, he kept reminding himself when it nearly had become too much to bear.  He was doing all this for Bae.  He had managed – almost – to convince himself that once he had found Bae, he would find Belle next and explain everything, even if it meant supplicating himself to her and begging for her forgiveness.  Once he had Bae, he would be able to do anything.  He could finally have the strength to allow himself to have it all.

It had been just a few days shy of six months since *that* day when Regina had shattered those dreams, once and for all.  He hadn’t wanted to believe her, not at first.  She had to have been lying.  Belle surely would have cried out for him in her fear and pain.  He would have heard her, for he could no longer deny, at least in his tormented thoughts, that it had been True Love.

His hopes had been crushed when he had used the mirror, the same one they had stood in front of on *that* day before he had fatefully sent her into town and everything had spiraled out of control.  He had begged and pleaded, not caring whether Regina had been spying on him or not, but the mirror had remained stubbornly blank, no image staring back at him but that of his own tortured visage.

In the 180-plus days since then, the dreams had come with increasing frequency, calling to him, taunting him – vivid visions of what could have been, haunting hallucinations of what might have been.

Slowly, he picked himself up off the floor, setting right the devastation he had wrought with a negligent wave of his hand as he made his way across the room.  Reverently, he reached out with trembling hands to pick up their cup from its pedestal, lifting it to his lips.  “Oh, Belle,” he whispered brokenly, tears slipping from his eyes as he pressed his lips to the cool porcelain.  “I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.”

* * *

“Rumplestiltskin,” Belle called out with a gasp, her eyes snapping open suddenly.  Pushing herself up into a sitting position on the cold concrete bench, her eyes darted around in the darkness of her cell.  It was not real.  None of it had been real. 

Drawing her knees up to her chest, she wrapped her arms around them, gently rocking herself as hot tears fell against her cool skin.  She had been enmeshed in the most wonderful dream, one in which there had just been him and her, no interference from the Evil Queen, no True Love’s Kiss to shatter their lives, until it had suddenly changed, twisted by truth into the reality that he was there, certain that she was dead – the Queen had oh-so-thoughtfully shared the events of her visit to the Dark Castle afterwards – while she was here, chained like an animal in a cage, subject to the Queen’s capricious whims and torments.

Turning her head towards the wall, she reached out to run her fingers over the marks scratched there, one for each of the 321 days that she had been a prisoner of the Evil Queen.  Below those marks, just above the cold slab she sat on, were another set of marks, 44 of them, marking the days between the disastrous events of *that* day and the day that the Queen had grabbed her.

365 marks – one full year since *that* day, since everything had changed, since she had been so innocent and gullible and had allowed herself to be duped into shattering the trust that had been so difficult to build between them during the preceding months.  With a watery sigh, she leaned to the side, resting her head against the wall.

As she heard the clipped footsteps outside her cell, she closed her eyes.  She knew who it was.  Coming out of her dream, she had inadvertently called out his name, which would have drawn attention that she would rather not have.  It was just another little torment, on top of all the others large and small, that every time his name made its way past her lips, she would show up, reminding her that there were spells and runes in place around the tower, that he could not hear her, that he would never hear her.

Lifting her head, her gaze defiant in the dark as she opened her eyes, she made the same vow she had made 321 days earlier, raising her voice loud enough that she knew the woman standing outside her cell door would hear.  “I’m coming back, Rumple,” she promised.  “She can’t keep us apart forever.  I’ll fight for you.  I’ll never stop fighting for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please don’t hate me…LOL
> 
> Well, this did not turn out quite the way I intended. I had several ideas of how I wanted to pursue this prompt – the only thing firmly fixed in my mind was that I wanted it to take place in the Enchanted Forest, someplace I had yet to write as a setting for Rumbelle – and had initially intended it to be nothing but PWP. But damned if those kids didn’t interfere, interjecting all kinds of thoughts and feelings – and angst. I definitely didn’t anticipate that. This was supposed to be lighthearted fun! Yeah, right, it’s Rumbelle we’re talking about here – they can’t even let themselves have a little fun properly without getting all introspective and angsty.


End file.
